Getting It Right
by kinokokichigai
Summary: Sometimes, they couldn't remember who they were supposed to be. Larxene and Luxord, Rufus and Elena


Getting It Right

--

Sometimes, Larxene would remember her Other. It wasn't much, but only really glimpses of what had been. A man with icy blue eyes and sleek blonde hair, a gun that fit her hand, the cold steel gradually growing warm; as she said, it wasn't much, but she could only remember flashes.

Some days, there would be times that she would simply stare at her kunai and her coat, and she would wonder why _the hell_ wasn't she wearing a blue suit, she could get in trouble if she wasn't going by regulations. And these knives--_what the hell?_ That wasn't her kink, that was Tse--

And then it would be over. It pissed her off, this other person. This other person who was a killer, like Larxene, but could regret and love and laugh and cry and live. Unlike Larxene.

She knew that other Nobodies could _kind of_ remember who they were, or what they had been. She'd find Luxord staring at her with an odd look in his eyes, and she'd want to do things to him that she had never wanted to do with _anyone_ else.

Larxene would think he needed less beard, less earrings, and more smirk and…some sort of shark? Something. He needed something.

_a white coat and a shotgun and a helicopter and wheelchairs and sheets and blue, blue eyes_

Ah, who cared.

--

_somewhere else, sometime else_

--

The black things—the damn things that ripped out peoples' hearts—were all clawing at the door, and Elena and Rufus could hear Rude's shouts outside the shack. The man had been looking for a safe(er) way out, and the black things had happened upon him.

Elena sat against a wall, repeatedly cleaning her gun while Rufus repeatedly counted the bullets they had left. They were both down to handguns now.

She began to rub the cool metal harder as Rude's shouts reached a crescendo and then died down, quickly. Rufus stood up and dropped some bullets in front of her.

"There are twenty-four bullets left. Here are twelve," he said, his voice as calm and cool as ever. "We'll have to go out eventually, and I doubt that you want to go down without a fight."

She shook her head, and gathered the bullets as she stood up. "Yes, sir," Elena said as she began loading the bullets into her gun, a tiny six-shooter.

Her boss put a hand on her shoulder. "Not yet, Elena." He turned her around, and stared into her brown eyes. Then he firmly grabbed her chin and kissed her, hard. He could hear her gasp, and she gave a near-sob as she dropped her gun and bullets to put her arms around his shoulders.

She was crying when they broke apart.

"Why now?" she said, her voice beginning to rise to hysteria. "Why now, sir?! This—this—they're all dead! And it's only _now?!_ Only_ now_ that you think to do a damn _thing?!_"

He simply watches her as she storms around the tiny shack, and does nothing as she stops in front of him.

She slaps him, hard. And then she kisses him, pulling him toward her in a clash of teeth and lips and tongues and this is the first time she's seen him lose control of himself as he grabs her tightly to him.

"We're going to die, Elena," he whispers, "and there is nothing that we can do about it. The Planet is dead, Shinra is dead, and _we are going to be dead_."

She (or is it him? She can't tell) takes a shuddering breath and he holds her all the more tightly.

"Maybe in a different time, we're luckier. Maybe I loved you more, maybe I wasn't such a coward. Maybe we were always together, somewhere else. Sometime else. But now is all that we have."

She sniffs, letting her head stay on his shoulder. "Well, sir, if you hadn't noticed, now isn't that goddamned_ much_."

A low, dispirited chuckle forces its way out of his throat. "Elena, drop the formalities."

They stay, holding each other for minutes, hours, days. Neither of them can tell, nor do they care to.

When they finally break apart, they quietly grab their guns and remaining bullets, and together they walk into the darkness.

--

Sometimes Luxord has trouble knowing who he is. It wasn't often, but flashes of another life sometimes play in front of him like some sort of twisted poker game. There were explosions, there were helicopters and gunfights, there were mercenaries and warm brown eyes and smooth blonde hair.

There were some days when he would look at his cards and his coat and think that he wasn't a gambling man, but a man of plans that had all come down in the end anyways, and this black coat made him look like he had woman's hips and he wanted his pristine white coat back again. And these cards? He preferred shotguns, thankyouverymuch, leave the kiddy games to Re—

And then it would be done. Luxord almost hated whoever his other was, because whenever he would think too much about him, he would (almost) feel love and hate and anger and regret, regret most of all. Luxord sometimes wondered what his Other regretted, but he had a clue anyways.

He knew Larxene knew something about him, and herself, and he would find himself staring at her and wondering what he was doing. And part of him, someone's memories, would reach up inside him and throttle him and tell him he needed her, he needed _something_.

_a blue suit, a self-designed handgun, an ID card, sideswept hair, and warm, brown eyes_

Luxord would sigh to himself, something in his stomach hating him as he turned away from her.

--

_somewhere else, sometime else_

_-_

Aerith was tending to her flowers in Radiant Garden, when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around to see a tall, blonde man with a pristine white suit looking at her penetratingly, a shotgun tucked neatly under his arm.

The flower girl held her surprise in check, and smiled softly at the man.

"You're looking for someone," she stated before he could get a word in. "A young blonde woman? Brown eyes, blue suit?"

He gave no sign of any shock, and simply nodded. "I do not know if she would be here. She has been through…a lot." His cool blue eyes told her that he had as well.

Aerith nodded and picked up her basket of cut flowers, gesturing for the man to follow her.

-

He stepped into the garden, watching her brown eyes widen as she saw who was at the gate. Then she matter-of-factly dropped her shears, and leaped into his arms as he set down his shotgun.

"I think, Elena," said the man, "that this time we can do it right."

Elena looks up at him, a small smile on her lips. She pulls him down to her and kisses him slowly, and he threads his fingers through her soft, blonde hair. They come apart and she looks up at him again.

"I think, Rufus," she said, "that you may just be right this time."

And so what if there weren't knives and cards, if there weren't black coats and beards, if there weren't killings and confusions and memories of other people because finally, finally they got it right.

-

Aerith remembers everything, always, and she knows that the man is the head of a dead company and she knows that the woman is a killer for the dead company. But Aerith also knows that this is a different place, and a different time, and she knows that in the end, everything will turn out just fine.

However, that doesn't stop Cloud, Tifa, Cid, and Yuffie from _totally freaking out_ once they learn that their former enemy is living in their town. But that's a story for another time.

--

Written for goodwitch08's challenge, except it's_ not the right game, damn it._ But I just couldn't shake this little story. It's still Rufus and Elena, though.


End file.
